


Act of Confirmation

by Sakiku



Series: Acts [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Identity Issues, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spark Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakiku/pseuds/Sakiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, Optimus sparked Prowl as a gift to the Citystate of Praxus. Less than three vorns ago, Prowl joined the Autobots. Now, Optimus is reunited with one of his creations for the very first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Optimus. There's something you need to see.”

Optimus looks up from the latest report of how Megatron is gathering more and more recruits and like-minded bots despite him already having shown his true colors by razing Tarn to the ground. 

Ratchet has actually come to Optimus' office instead of simply pinging him. There are only two possible reasons for that. Either the subject is something so secret Ratchet doesn't dare entrust it to open airwaves, or the medic fears what Optimus' reaction will be without his presence.

Neither is very reassuring.

“What is it?” he asks, hoping to get a hint so that he can prepare himself mentally.

Ratchet frowns. “It's Prowl.”

Prowl. Praxian Enforcer. Joined the Autobots three vorns ago. Good tactician, reasonably skilled with his acid pellet gun, but nothing outstanding. Some processor defect that makes him not very stress resistant, but his spark is in the right spot.

An insistent subroutine pings its way into Optimus' attention, reminding him that Prowl is one of His. A spark split from Optimus', given to the Citystate of Praxus as sign of his appreciation.

Optimus routinely suppresses the nagging thread that tells him he should feel _something_ at least at the knowledge that Prowl is his creation. But he doesn't, can't, has let the emotions starve off the moment Prowl walked out of the creation room.

“What about Prowl?” Optimus asks in concern, like he would show concern for any of his Autobots. But he doesn't make the effort to insert more emotions into his fields than he truly feels. Ratchet knows the truth, knows about his Creator partition.

Ratchet's EMs curl in on themselves in grim determination. “Can you identify sparks you have ignited, compared to others?”

Optimus vents. “You know I have severed all ties to --”

“Can you or can you not?”

“I... I don't know.” And isn't this one of his greatest admittances of failure?

Ratchet nods sharply. “Come with me. I need you to try at least.”

Studying the turmoil in Ratchet's fields, laced with dark suspicion, Optimus sets aside the datapad he has been reading. “What is the matter, Ratchet?”

Subtle dread, just barely suppressed by medical professionalism, weaves through Ratchet's EMs. “I have reason to doubt that the spark in Prowl's frame is the same it was sparked with.”

“What makes you think that?” Optimus has trouble keeping his processors from freezing. Prowl _is_ his. There isn't anything wrong with Optimus' factual memory. For Ratchet to have voiced doubts in that manner, something very serious must have happened.

“Come with me,” Ratchet repeats. “You need to see for yourself.”

In mute disquiet, Optimus follows the medic through the hallways of the emerging base. If Ratchet's assumptions are right, the implications are staggering. Swapping the spark of a Prime Creation for another one, that's... Optimus doesn't know what it is, because he can't find any words for such an atrocity. But he will hold back his judgment for now; maybe there is another explanation.

Instead of heading for the main medical bay, Ratchet ushers him into a side room. There Prowl is, in stasis, his chest seams parted wide and gaping, but his laser core, his crystal spark chamber, is still closed. 

There are strange parallels to the few memories Optimus has of him. If it wasn't for the slight dings and scruff-marks that speak of usage, and the EM-fields suffusing the frame, time could have turned back to Prowl's creation. The same exquisitely crafted frame. The same position, flat on his back, chest seams parted, a wedge beneath his spine so that the sensitive doorwings don't get crushed beneath his weight. Even the same stillness, stasis so deep that the frame is nearly lifeless.

And yet, any feeling of familiarity is absent.

Optimus' spark aches. There has never been a feeling of familiarity with Prowl. He has always attributed it to the emotional cut his Creator partition makes, being so absolute that nothing survives. But... what if it is more?

“What am I supposed to see?”

Ratchet frowns and taps the crystal bared by the open chest plates. “This is definitely not the spark chamber this frame was sparked with. I don't know who did the transplant, but they certainly didn't do him a favor by giving him a standard chamber model. Optimus, although all chamber connectors have been linked to the corresponding frame connectors, this spark chamber is linked to less than eighty percent of the available frame connection points. It is a miracle he can function at all.”

Less than eighty percent. That indicates some heavy modifications, both to frame and spark chamber. Modifications that can only be done by the bot himself.

Optimus has saved some files about how Prowl was extraordinary at creation time already, but he doesn't remember the frame deviating so strongly from the norm. If more connection points have formed, it must have been afterwards. Nanobots _can_ do self-modification to such an extent, but only if the bot is skilled enough. Messing with one's frame is never a good idea. Especially not around the spark chamber.

Optimus tries to see what Ratchet has seen, but he knows too little about mechanics. He tries to find other explanations. “Spark chamber transplants are rare, but not unheard of. Why do you doubt that this is... Prowl's spark?”

Ratchet snorts, throwing his arms in the air. “Because there's been no medical necessity for it!” He starts pacing, ticking off the points on his digits. “There's no comment in his medical perma-file of such a complicated surgery. None of his exoframe shows signs of damage heavy enough to also affect his spark chamber. Also, his chamber and spark space are filled with nanites that don't belong to the frame. He's had the chamber long enough that there's been considerable mixing, but there's still a differential in concentration visible.”

Nanites are unique to a mech. And they are only produced during function. Even if only the chamber has been transplanted, it was transplanted from a living mech. Not a factory mold. That alone is already a crime, because it means the deactivation of the donor. Spark chambers can't be transplanted from grayed frames.

Optimus has seen a lot since the war started, but this level of depravity is still staggering. 

“The memory banks are still the original ones, aren't they?” he finally asks.

Ratchet's brief nod is damning. Questioning Prowl is out with that, because no matter whose spark is powering the frame, the memories will be Prowl's. The mech probably isn't even aware that something might be wrong, because sparks don't have any memories in the conventional sense. For all intent and purpose, the mech _is_ Prowl. Just – maybe not completely.

Ratchet sums up what Optimus has been refusing to think about so far. “If it's only the spark chamber that has been swapped, it's a first-level offense against personal freedom. I can't see any medical reason for a transplant, so the choosing of an unfitting chamber must have been a deliberate attempt to hamper him. Not to mention just where they got the chamber from, and that they modified his medical perma-file to hide the action.

“If they transplanted the spark together with the chamber, it's... Actually, I can't recall any precedence. To try and pass off another spark as Prime-sparked... I can only guess that Prowl became uncomfortable for Praxus, and that they hoped that giving the frame a calmer, weaker spark would make him more controllable.”

“Did they succeed?” Optimus asks morbidly.

Ratchet fields churn with suppressed fury. “I can only run simulations on what Prowl must have been like before the transplant, but I would say, yes. With the kind of hardware he was running, the modifications he has made to optimize his frame – successfully at that – he must have been prodigious. Even limited as he is now, he is good enough to be in the upper third regarding processing power and the upper ten percent in tactical. Whether the transplant has made him more docile – I don't know. I doubt they intended for him to join the Autobots.”

Optimus nods slowly, dreading the answer. “Can you tell which option is more likely?”

“No. That is why I need you to confirm with your creator-creation bond.”

Optimus looks at the still frame, but he feels no familiarity. If this isn't the spark he has created for Prowl, then where is it? He doesn't know which would be worse – it having extinguished without Optimus feeling a thing, or it having been put away into a different frame to go through Primus only knows what.

But – would he feel anything, even if it _was_ his creation? He hasn't seen any of his creations except from afar at ceremonies, so he doesn't have any comparison. He wants to believe that he would recognize sparks of his spark, but he isn't optimist enough for that. The partitioning of his creator code is very, very strong, because eradicating all attachment is the only way he knows how to deal with the fall-out of his Primely duties.

“Can I... I don't _know_ ,” Optimus finally manages, the pain of having forgotten his own creation eating at his processors like hydrofluoric acid.

Ratchet plugs in to Prowl's wrist port, and the laser core spirals open, moves forward. Bright light spills into the room, an electric blue that flickers and dances with the motions of Prowl's spark. From his peripheral sensors Optimus can see Ratchet studying him intently, but his attention remains locked on Prowl's core.

Lively. Energetic. The EMs are strong and steady, stasis having soothed away any turmoil the processor might feel.

And yet...

There is no recognition. The distance created by partitioning simply is too great.

In an agonized last-ditch attempt Optimus opens his own chest, hoping that his spark will know what his processors and memory banks don't. He bends over the stasis-locked frame, reflexively gripping the wrist although it isn't him who is hardlined to Prowl.

The strong electromagnetic fields of an unshielded spark sting against his bared one, prickling in near pain. There is still nothing he can feel.

Closer. Sparkmerge-closeness. 

And there is still nothing except for the friction of their coronas reaching out to each other.

Optimus tears himself away, moral threads screaming at him that he is about to force a merge on an unconscious mech. Violate an unconscious mech in the most intimate manner. He stumbles back several steps, snapping his chestplates closed so hard that there's an audible clang. 

To think that war has changed him enough that he was almost ready to commit rape to do what? Damage an already violated mech even further? Satisfy his own curiosity beneath the pretense of finding the truth? He shudders.

“Well?” Ratchet asks expectantly.

Optimus can't do anything but shake his head. 

The medic frowns. “No, this isn't Prowl's spark, or no, you aren't sure?”

“I... I can't tell. I don't feel anything, but I'm not sure if I would feel anything even if this is the spark I created.”

 _What now?_ is on both their processors, but none voices the thought.

Prowl hasn't done anything, is probably just a victim. They can't keep him in stasis indefinitely. Also, Optimus can't suspend him just on a suspicion that his spark isn't Prowl's. But they are at war. The Autobots are up hard enough that they can't afford having such a security risk in their ranks.

“Jazz?” he finally suggests, running out of ideas. The minibot infiltrator is very, very good at digging up dirt others would have loved to keep buried and forgotten. And uncovering a scandal of the levels this is projecting to be, is right up his alley.

Ratchet nods and closes Prowl up. First the laser-core, then the chest plates. The medic doesn't say anything about Optimus' near-rape. The medic doesn't say anything either about how he would have stood aside and let Optimus do it. Only his fields flicker slightly before they harden again into the standard EMF of a grim but determined – and maybe a little disappointed – mech.

Sending a boot-up call moments before pulling the hardline is routine. “If anyone can find out the truth, he can,” Ratchet finally agrees.

They watch Prowl cycle up, war-time having changed his booting order for threat assessment first. When Prowl doesn't continue with combat protocols but instead starts booting his main processors, Optimus relaxes a bit. Prowl obviously still regards them as non-hostile, and is adjusting his protocols accordingly.

It takes nearly a breem before Prowl's optics turn on and the Praxian sits up on the med-berth. He looks from Ratchet to Optimus and back again, before his doorwings twitch.

“You have found out about the spark chamber,” Prowl more states than asks. 

Ratchet's optics flicker in surprise. “You know about the spark chamber?”

“How could I not when I have memories of before?”

Optimus vents heavily with the unexpected revelation. He hasn't expected Prowl to be this informed, let alone cooperative. “Then can you tell us what was the reason for the spark chamber switch?”

“I was told it was due to corrupted spark chamber coding.” Prowl's doorwings are held stiff, uncomfortable.

Without looking away from the Praxian, Optimus contacts Ratchet on a sub-frequency of the officers-only channel. _/Is that a possibility?/_

The answer comes a femtoklik later. _/Entirely possible, when you consider the heavy modifications visible in his frame. But why does a medically warranted correction not appear in his files?/_

_/What reason do the records state?/_

_/There's no mention of a spark chamber transplant at all in his perma-file./_

A bot's medical perma-file should have been immutable. It is intrinsically linked with the frame, backed up in so many places that nothing short of a full frame transplant can erase it all. It keeps track of any injury and medical procedure done on the bot's frame. The most medics can do is create extra annotations for the automatic recording mechanism. But no deleting. It should have been impossible to manipulate.

Optimus frowns, turning back to Prowl. His exchange with Ratchet was quick enough that the pause is hardly noticeable. “You say you were told. What is your own opinion on it?”

The Praxian stares at him long enough that Optimus is starting to wonder whether Prowl has managed to trap himself in an endless loop. Finally, Prowl shakes his head. “My apologies, Prime. I would like to know first whether a mech called Iudex Five exists.”

“Is he the one who told you that?”

Prowl just shakes his head again and remains mute, doorwings vibrating with tension.

Exchanging a glance with Ratchet, Optimus tries to decide what to do. What this means. Is Iudex Five the master-mind behind all this? How deep does the conspiracy run? And how involved is Prowl?

 _/How many mechs do you estimate can manipulate perma-files like that?/_ Optimus stalls.

Ratchet's glyphs are filled with uncertainty. _/Without leaving any trace? Less than a dozen on all of Cybertron, I would say. I can't say anything about underground hacks though./_

_/Prowl?/_

_/As he is now? No. Before?/_ Ratchet hesitates. _/Possible. But why would he?/_

Maybe he was forced to. Maybe it is an attempt to... Oh, he doesn't know. Is he thinking too much into things?

Finally Optimus sighs, hoping that he doesn't make a monumental mistake. “Very well. You will be placed on medical leave for the next orn, during which you can do your own investigation into Iudex Five. That is the most time I can give you, though. After that, I need answers.”

He doesn't mention that Prowl will be monitored closely. 

“Because I am your creation?” the Praxian asks, his fields suspiciously still.

Optimus does his best to suppress the wailing threads of _Idon'tknowIdon'tknowIdon'tknow_. This is the first time he has heard Prowl mention their relationship, and he absolutely can't tell why. An inquiry to test whether they got away with a spark-switch? To see whether Optimus can be manipulated through those ties? Or the quiet suspicions of an innocent mech, who has reason to believe he isn't who he thinks he is?

Optimus doesn't let his own failure of not knowing his creation, color his response. “Because you are an Autobot.”

Only close watching reveals that there is a tiny flinch before Prowl's tensely canted doorwings settle into a more neutral position. But what does it mean?

“Thank you, Prime.” Prowl bows his helmet and wings in the traditional Praxian gesture of respect towards an elder/creator/commander. “I will not disappoint you.”

Optimus, too, hopes that he doesn't.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes less than six joor before Prowl asks to talk to his Prime in private. Optimus agrees immediately, but isn't above consulting Jazz for additional information. 

He has tasked Jazz with both following Prowl's every action and digging into the matter of the replaced spark-chamber himself. However, the saboteur is nearly as much in the dark as Optimus is. Jazz can only confirm that Prowl has indeed found a mech called Iudex Five, a Praxian enforcer, but hasn't made any move to contact him. Actually, Prowl hasn't done anything after that, staring blankly into space for two joors before asking for a meeting.

Jazz used that time to do some more digging, but his data spreads are inconclusive. There are no hints that Iudex Five is anything but what he appears to be: one of Praxus' mass-produced Enforcer frames, called into being 287 vorns ago with the rest of the Iudex batch, and having to serve Praxus until his frame is payed off. He is a small cog in the gears of the Enforcers, as unremarkable as any of his batch-brothers. 

The batch's medic has made an annotation that Iudex Five seems to be incapable of accessing his frame's emotive programming, but that malfunction hasn't had any impact on his Enforcer duties. Because of that, nobot has investigated the matter further – a common practice amongst the mass-produced. As long as a glitch doesn't impede the ability to work, it isn't worth wasting creds on fixing. Iudex Five is just another example of a typical Enforcer grunt.

There is no indication of what Prowl's interest is in him. So Optimus decides to wait and see what the story is, since he has too little information to make speculations.

Three breems later, Prowl arrives at Optimus' office. Optimus offers him a chair to sit, but Prowl refuses. His plates are clamped so tightly to his frame that Optimus is starting to question whether it doesn't cut off his energon circulation. Prowl stands completely rigid, optics focused straight ahead and not meeting Optimus'. It would be the perfect image of a soldier at attention if it wasn't for the diffuse EM vibrations seeping from every clenched seam.

It takes Optimus nearly a klik to realize it is a muted but spark-deep terror.

“You wanted to speak to me?” he opens when it becomes clear that Prowl won't – or can't – start.

Prowl's doorwings tremble slightly before he forces them back under control. He continues staring straight ahead. “I have reason to believe that my spark chamber was not the only item replaced during the surgery.” 

There are no emotive glyphs lining his message. Nothing but the clean, clear-cut glyphs of high Praxian factual language. Prowl's fields though speak all the clearer.

It is nothing they haven't already suspected, Optimus thinks, and nonetheless has to kill several threads of shock, anger, and a wailing _mycreationhurtlostWhereWhereWhere_. It is the last thread that surprises him the most, considering that his Creator-partition is still locked away. “What makes you think so?”

Prowl continues, as rigid and terrified as he has begun. “There are several instances in my memory where the senators weren't happy with the opinions I expressed and the subjects I researched. Those occasions became more numerous towards the date of the chamber transplant. However, the statistical probability that a chamber transplant alone is the reason for the changes in my behavior, is only slightly above fifty percent.” He hesitates slightly, then steels himself. “Prime, may I ask what the merge told you?”

Optimus jolts. He should have known that a deep internal diagnostic would have been able to identify the small amount of spark nanites that were exchanged during their brief contact. And that Prowl would have run such a diagnostic and known how to interpret the result.

He vents slowly and tries to act as if half-rape was eons better than complete rape. “There was just a brief overlap of coronas. I could not justify a full merge when the result wouldn't have been conclusive in any case.”

“You – you do not know whether I am your creation?”

The uncharacteristic accumulation of insecurity, incomprehension, and crushed hope in Prowl's tone sends painful sparks through Optimus. “No. I – ” He wants to tell Prowl how it is Optimus' fault alone, how he has a creator partition that cuts off bonds so hard that he isn't sure he will ever be able to recognize any of his creations even if he merges with them. But he can't. Can't, when there is still a chance that Prowl might be working against him and use that to cover a spark swap. “ – I don't,” he finishes lamely.

Prowl's doorwings sag as numbness blisters on the underlying terror of his fields. “Oh.”

Optimus gives him time to process his feelings. But he can't give Prowl as much as he would like to, because he needs to know. “How is Iudex Five involved?” he prompts gently.

The tactician straightens again and shakes his head. “I don't know. About a vorn after the transplant, I received a message that said that if I needed to do some spark-searching, I should contact Iudex Five. I would have ignored it as the advertisement of just another esoteric service, but it contained the absolute path to a file in my memory storage. I was not even aware I had that file.”

Absolute paths are private and individual to a degree that it is unthinkable someone would be able to simply _guess_. Not even the bot the memory file belongs to, accesses it via an absolute path. Instead, memory recall works with tags and date stamps that have been generated upon saving time. Sometimes, a relative path is used when very important memories have been grouped together in a single data object, but never an absolute one. Waste of storage space.

For another mech to know about Prowl's filing system, it can only mean that Prowl has been hacked down to his core components. Either that, or someone deliberately planted that file at that path.

Optimus shutters his optics and barely restrains his revulsion at the thought of being violated so intimately. Then again, what he almost did to Prowl earlier, hasn't been a jot better. 

Prowl continues, his fields pulsing with spark-deep agitation while his doorwings are held so stiff they vibrate at the edges. “As far as I can tell, it is one of my files. I – I even left myself a note in there that I would deliberately make myself forget about both its existence and its content until needed.”

“Is this the file where you collected your observations that the Praxian senators were not happy with your doings?”

Prowl's fields twitch in a full-frame flinch. “No. It is the file where I consolidated the information I uncovered during my unsanctioned explorations. It is – if they knew I had all this data, they probably wouldn't have allowed anything less than a complete reformat. It is only because they thought I hadn't found anything important yet that they were content with a spark-chamber swap only.”

“What does it say?” Optimus doesn't want to believe that the very same Praxian senators he has gifted one of his creations to, would have secrets dark enough to justify an action like that. He doesn't want to believe they would do something like that to _any_ mech, let alone a spark of his spark.

But the beginnings of war have torn away whatever illusions of the goodness of all mech-kind he held. Corruption and betrayal go through all levels, and sparks are only too cheap to come by at the very top.

The file Prowl pings him with is smaller than expected. The summary blurb tells why: it is nothing but textual facts and some numeric extrapolations. No vids or sensory data attached. Just text and numbers.

Optimus doesn't need to read more than the first hundred lines to shutter his optics in pain. They seem to be quite free in Praxus with transplanting spark-chambers of uncomfortable mechs. In addition, there are hints that several minor Towers in Praxus are financing weapons and parts shipments that always seem to be getting lost in the Kaon area. Deals with organized crime. Falsifying energon production records so that they can sell the surplus on the black market. And that is just the first couple hundred lines, when the file carries at least a million.

Hurt to his spark, he forwards the file to Jazz with a small explanation tagged on. The Spec-Ops leader knows what to do with unconfirmed information like that. 

“How much of it is true?” he asks Prowl, to see the Praxian's reaction.

Prowl's doorwings tremble. “Anything I verified. But – I didn't dare do very much. They – I didn't even dare see if the message about Iudex Five was more than a hoax.”

Optimus sighs. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

“Because the risk was too high while I was still in their command.” Some of the spark-deep terror in Prowl's fields bubbles to the surface. Fear of what Praxus would have done to him, or fear of what Optimus will do to him? 

“Then why not at least when you joined the Autobots?”

The terror increases, even as a helpless waiting for judgment eats into it. “Because – because I wanted to believe it wasn't true. Because, if Iudex Five really holds the spark that belongs into this frame, what are you going to do with me?” Prowl is shaking by now, and Optimus can read his desire to wring his servos. But Prowl doesn't. Instead he forges on, story spilling from him in terror. “I know that I can't use this frame to its full potential, and if I thought there was a way this frame could function the way I remember I functioned in the past, I would feel it my duty to inform you of it. We – Things are going bad enough that we could _use_ someone with this frame's full capabilities. Just – this is the only existence I remember, and what is going to happen to me when you restore Iudex Five? I really like this frame, all the tactical programming and the sensor doorwings and the weapons algorithms. It's – it's mine. Even if I'm not as good as I should be.”

Optimus' spark clenches. Even though he doubts Prowl is his creation anymore, his feelings go out to the Praxian. 

It is only too understandable that Prowl fears what his existence would be like after a reformat, although he would probably remember none of it. It would only be the spark-chambers exchanged without any of the memory cores, because the frame that is Prowl would need them more. In essence, the spark inside Prowl would become a new mech with no memory of what life it had led before. Perhaps it is also this that Prowl fears.

Optimus understands him all too well. Even his own reformat from Orion Pax into Optimus Prime had been exceedingly stressful. And he had had the guarantee that he could take his memory cores and anything he deemed important in his operating system with him.

Optimus asks his Creator-partition to let a bit of its all-encompassing love and calmness seep out. “Do not worry,” he tries to reassure the mech. “You should have told me earlier, but I cannot fault you for that. Thank you that you had the courage to step forward despite your fears. And about your frame – it is not even certain yet whether Iudex Five is my creation. And even if he is, it is not certain he would want to switch back.” The surprise in Prowl's fields is cloying. Has the mech never thought about the possibility that the original spark might not want to give up its current life? “And, last but not least: Why do you think your consent is any less important? You might not be my creation, but that doesn't change that you are one of my Autobots. Should you agree to a switch, you will of course have a say in what your function will be, what your frame is going to be like, and what programs you want to carry over.”

Prowl just stares at him. And then, without a warning, he collapses.

With a cry of surprise, Optimus is barely fast enough to catch him before his helmet bounces on the floor. 

_/Ratchet!/_ he comms urgently, trying to find out if the shut-down had happened merely from relief or whether there was something more to it.

_/What happened?/_ Alarmed glyphs line the message, just as they have lined Optimus'.

_/Prowl just told me about how he suspects that the spark in his frame isn't the original one, and he sent me a hidden file with plenty of highly sensitive information. There's evidence that much more might be wrong in Praxus then we thought. After I told him that I wouldn't do any spark switching without complete consent from both parties he just collapsed! Could be relief, but could also be some malware that has been triggered./_

Curses are his only answer. The medic is there within less than two klicks and takes in the situation. Ungently, he shoves Optimus away and yanks the medical port cover open. 

Ratchet's hydraulics never lock when he plugs in, because he always, always keeps enough processing power alert to react to outside stimulus. A necessary modification for battlefield medics, one that Motherboard never made and thus paid the price for it. Especially medics are sought-after targets in their ever-escalating war. Optimus habitually keeps watch, as unneeded as it might be in the heart of their base. He wants Ratchet to be able to dedicate his maximum processing power to helping out Prowl.

Finally, the medic relaxes and unplugs. “Just a reaction to his emotions overloading his processors. Not something that should be repeated every orn, but pretty much harmless. He's in recharge, and when he wakes again he should have processed enough of it to be able to function normally again.”

“No evidence of viruses or code triggers?”

The look Ratchet gives him speaks volumes. “His story must have been an interesting one. But no, can't see any viruses or code triggers. He just fainted from an overflow of emotions.”

Optimus allows his shoulders to sag in relief. “That's good to know. The way it looks at the moment, it is very likely that both chamber and spark have been switched. But whoever has been put into Prowl's frame is as much a victim in this as Prowl himself. Seems like he was deemed docile enough to replace the more... inquisitive spark I created. But I still don't understand!” He raises his arms helplessly. “If they wanted another spark in the frame, why didn't they just transplant the spark on its own?”

Ratchet snorts. “Because the success rate of spark transplants into a chamber that carries the residual spark energy of another mech, is less than 30 percent. I assume they didn't want to risk him deactivating. There are enough rumors around that say a Creator can feel when their creation extinguishes, and they obviously didn't want you to know.” His fields harden into corroding titanium. “Also, why do you think it wasn't deliberate that they hampered him with a standard and completely unfitting spark chamber?”

“You mean – “

“Yes.” Ratchet chuckles mirthlessly. “Why not just assume the entire palette? Doesn't seem so far-fetched now in this case, does it?”

Optimus flinches. “No, it doesn't.”

They both look down on Prowl's unconscious frame, laid out flat on its back on the metal floor of Optimus' office. It is still as beautiful as it was the orn Optimus gifted it with life, but now there is an ugly, ugly story locked inside.

“So, who's the lucky mech your spark got put into?” Ratchet finally asks.

Optimus fields twist into a grimace as he sighs. “I don't know. Prowl assumes it is Iudex Five, but he might only be a messenger who has the next hint in where we could find him.”

“Iudex Five?” Ratchet blinks. “That's an Enforcer designation. One of the mass-sparked factory molds.”

“Yes.”

“Ouch.” Ratchet draws a face. “No wonder he was so scared of you switching back their sparks. Even limited as he is now, that's got to be eons better than the drone-like restrictions in the programming of the factory molds.”

Optimus just nods. “I still have to verify first whether it is Iudex Five at all. And I...” He trails off as his fields flare uncomfortably. “I don't know whether I am capable of recognizing his spark, even if it's the one I created,” he finally admits.

Ratchet snorts dismissively. “You already told me that. That's why I'm going with you, of course. If he's got the spark-chamber that fits to the connections in Prowl, and if he's got some of your nanites in his spark, chances are pretty good that he's yours. There's still enough time for you to agonize over whether you recognize him or not after that.” 

A surprised chuckle forces itself out of Optimus' vocoder, but Ratchet doesn't give him enough time to respond before he dozes on.

“Now, help me load him up,” Ratchet motions towards Prowl's still form on the floor, “and I'll take him to my repair bay. Make sure he wakes up right in his processors and all that, while you see to it that you find the spark.”

With a twist of moving parts, Ratchet transforms into his hover-alt and parks himself next to the unconscious Praxian. Since Ratchet doesn't have any arms or servos in this form, it falls to Optimus to fit Prowl into the medical hold. It takes a bit of coaxing to make sure the doorwings aren't cramped up uncomfortably, but Optimus manages to load up Prowl without mishap.

Once finished, he rests his servo on Ratchet's roof as he crouches next to the medical transporter. “Thank you, Ratchet,” he says with all the gratefulness he feels swelling in his fields to the point he thinks he will burst.

The hover-form snorts. “Keh. Only my job to care for crashed mechs.”

They both know that this isn't what Optimus has meant, but Ratchet has never been good at accepting gratitude.

“Thank you anyway,” Optimus repeats and finally lets the medic go.

There are still things to be done before they can even think about contacting Iudex Five.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I lied. Not the conclusion yet - that's the next chapter (which should be done by tomorrow). Enjoy nonetheless!

To Optimus' quiet regret, all the accusations in the file Prowl transmitted to him, are true. Some, Intelligence has already known about. Some are new. And some are so outrageous that Jazz doesn't even know yet where to begin digging deeper.

Spark-chamber transplants. Forcing unframed creator-sparks to bud again and again until their essence dissolves from the strain. Spark-splitting. Beneath the immaculate surface of Praxus and the extraordinary beauty of its crystal gardens, there lies a ghastly disregard for mechanoid life. There are records of atrocities, compared to which the crime of playing both sides of this war, seems harmless.

Prowl has returned to his regular duties after an orn in med-bay. The reports on Optimus' desk say that he seems alright, but Optimus doesn't dare verify that personally. There are hints that Praxus has spies in their ranks, and Optimus doesn't want to tip them off that they are on to them. So he keeps things to only those already involved: Ratchet, Jazz, Prowl. Not even Eclipse, head of Intelligence, knows yet, although Optimus is quite sure he suspects what is going on.

But slowly, the noose is tightening. Every scrap of evidence Jazz collects will be used for a lawsuit of until now unheard-of proportions. Prime against the entire Citystate of Praxus.

And in the center of it, there is Iudex Five. Optimus has sent Jazz to approach him beneath the radar, because contacting him directly would be too dangerous. If Iudex Five is indeed the carrier of the lost spark, there is no doubt that he will be under heavy surveillance. And Optimus is certain that, if push comes to shove, Praxus will not hesitate in silencing a leak – Prime-sparked or not.

When Jazz's message reaches him, Optimus is busy talking over vid-com to a representative of the leading Tower in Iacon about energon shipments. An army needs fuel, and energon is expensive. It is the usual talk about how the Towers of Iacon are of course happy to support the Autobot cause, and how they just want to contribute their part to holding the Decepticons at bay. What it means is that the Towers expect the Autobots to prioritize their protection because they are actually supporting them, contrary to all those poor worker-class mechs who have barely enough to live from orn to orn.

Optimus is only too well-versed in these games of politics. He gravely reassures Quaestor that he is suitably grateful for their help, and that of course he would defend them to the last of his spark. He continues greasing Quaestor's joints verbally and manages to never mention that he will defend _any_ bot to the last of his spark.

When their conversation has finally terminated, Optimus releases his hydraulic pressure in a mechanic sigh. A minor speculation thread wonders if the Iacon Towers contain a similar degeneration to Praxus, and he just hasn't found out about it yet.

But no. He mustn't think so negatively. 

Raising all his firewalls and encryptions to their maximum strength, Optimus opens Jazz's message in the privacy of his processors. Beneath all the harmless situational reports on the surface, a code string emerges from the depths of the message:

_Five says he has it. Nearly crashed when he fought against Enforcer programming to tell me he wants to join. Need Ratchet for software and possible physical surprises before extraction possible._

It is followed by a string of glyphs that denote several times and places where Jazz will be able to rendezvous with Ratchet. 

Optimus' digits clench into his office desk so hard that they leave dents. Of course it can't be as easy as just taking Iudex Five to one of their bases. 

He should have been suspicious when none of Praxus' mass-produced Enforcers joined a side of the war. Not a single one of them. He thought that they were simply too loyal to their Citystate, that they wanted to remain a neutral bastion of justice.

But to have it thrown into his face that they probably _can't_ choose, that their coding actually restrains them to such a degree... 

If the limitations had only been installed in Iudex Five, Optimus would have understood. Not agreed with, but understood. He expected Praxus to make sure Optimus would never come into contact with the transplanted spark. But Jazz's message clearly states that it is the standard Enforcer programming prohibiting him, not special modifications to keep Iudex Five alone under their control.

It is the last grain of truth that obliterates Optimus' already precarious emotional balance.

His rage and anger explode into his fields, erupting with a thermite-like intensity. Were he a more warlike bot, he probably would go and find himself some training drones to obliterate. However, Optimus isn't such a bot. Instead he strains and pushes his fields as far as they can go, trembling in an electromagnetic scream of helplessness. He holds it there and holds it and holds it, until all the anger and rage collapse out from under him and his fields crumble.

There is a reason why his office is shielded so heavily. Decepticon attacks are only part of it.

Slowly, he gathers the broken fragments of his fields into something resembling his usual calm. Only then does he contact Ratchet that he should come to Optimus' office. Optimus doesn't dare entrust the content of Jazz's message to open airwaves, no matter how encrypted.

He feels empty and hollow, like he always does after venting his emotions in this manner. But it is better than breaking down completely, and this way at least no one sees his loss of control.

Ratchet takes one look at him and the lingering EM residue in his office, and starts cursing. Optimus lets him. It is the medic's way of venting stress, and it gives Optimus some more time to collect himself. Ratchet eventually winds down enough to ask, “Well, how bad is it?”

Optimus pings him with Jazz's message on a very high frequency. Next to the high data transmission rate, VHF doesn't carry far. Together with a heavy encryption, it is about as secure as they can get short of hard-lining.

The medic starts cursing again, but nods at Optimus between several maledictions against 'those processor-addled glitch-worms that are so rusted that they can't even be melted down for spare parts without their molecular bonds breaking from all the slag they have incorporated into their atomic matrix'. 

Ratchet understands.

Optimus lets him go and knows that the medic will do his best for Iudex Five. Now all that is left for him is waiting. Waiting for news from Jazz, for news from Ratchet, for news from Iudex Five.

He may be Prime, but that is all he can do right now.

Three orns later, the unofficial mission is a success. Iudex Five stands before him in Optimus' office, flanked by a viciously grinning Jazz and a scowling Ratchet. All of them still carry the dust of the roads on their plates.

Between Jazz's minibot frame and Ratchet's medical articulation, Iudex Five's bulky Enforcer frame stands out. And while his plates may look waxed and polished beneath the dust, Optimus' chemo receptors can detect many metal oxides, all coming from the Enforcer's frame. 

Rust. Deep rust that corrodes struts and armor from within, due to low-quality metal and insufficient maintenance. Optimus doesn't think the stage of disrepair is the mech's fault. It is hard not to let anyone feel his new surge of anger, rage, and guilt.

The Enforcer's fields are entirely blank – not the blankness of suppressed fields, but the blankness of no emotions. He stands at attention and has his gaze focused on Optimus, waiting for a command. Optimus remembers that there was an entry in the medical data Jazz had gotten a hold of, that Iudex Five seems to be incapable of accessing his emotive programming. But he hadn't thought... Are all Enforcers this drone-like, this badly maintained?

“Jazz. Report,” he orders and prepares himself for a very unpleasant story.

It is a story of greed and suffering, of mechs hobbled so badly by their sub-standard frames and restrictive programming that they are indeed hardly more than drones. It is a story of bribery and neglect, hidden behind brightly polished armor plates and artfully glittering crystal gardens. It is a story of slavery, carefully cultivated so that the Enforcers deactivate of 'natural causes' before their servitude is over and they would have to be paid.

How could all of this have happened right beneath his optics, he wonders dimly and keeps an iron control over his fields. Why has nobody mentioned anything to him? Optimus thinks that he is more informed about the the deep, dark secrets inside Darkmount than about what happens in broad daylight on his own side.

He swears to himself that this will be another kiloJoule for Praxus' smelting pyre.

Jazz has managed to fake Iudex's deactivation, so they still have time to build the trial. Praxus will be nervous for some time if they have kept as close tabs on Iudex as Optimus thinks they have, but they won't suspect anything off. Jazz has taken great care not to leave any trace of himself or Autobot involvement.

Throughout Jazz's narration – and Ratchet occasionally chimes in with some details of the Enforcer programming he has had to wade through to free Iudex Five – the Enforcer remains as blank as he has been since entering. There is as little familiarity with him as there has been with Prowl. _Whywhywhy_ a tiny thread wails in the depths of Optimus' processing schedule, but Optimus ignores it.

Eventually, the story ends and Optimus can turn his full attention to the mech. Iudex Five gives no sign that he is unnerved in any way by the close scrutiny, holding still and keeping his fields blank.

“You said your spark is of my creation,” Optimus finally begins, keeping all emotions from his EMs.

The Enforcer nods sharply, precisely. “Yes, Prime, to the best of my knowledge the spark that has once powered the mech Prowl, has been transplanted into this frame. Since you show no signs of recognition though, either the assumption about creator-creation bonds is false, or I am mistaken.”

Optimus suppresses a flinch at the inflectionless statement, which nonetheless seems to carry a hint of accusation. He looks questioningly at Ratchet.

“He has the correct spark chamber,” is all the medic says.

“And the spark?”

Ratchet shrug-nods. “The nanites are all there.”

So it has come to this. Should Optimus ask? Does he dare ask? Does he really need to verify what Ratchet has already told him? 

Is he even _capable_ of verifying anything?

The click of an unlocking chest seam is loud in the silence of his office. It is Iudex Five who has just disengaged the locks on his armor plates, earning him a surprised look from both Ratchet and Jazz. 

“I will submit to any examinations you deem necessary,” is the Enforcer's explanation. And his fields are still blank, but Optimus thinks he might have sensed a tiny twinge in a bottom modulation.

“Any?” Optimus stalls, trying to make sense of the seething chaos inside his processors. 

He thought he was prepared for this moment. He has tried to imagine what he would do if Ratchet identified a spark as his but Optimus himself could not. Part of him doesn't want to believe it. Part of him thinks that he must simply look closer and then he will find what he has been looking for. Part of him doesn't want to be disappointed if Iudex Five isn't his creation after all. And Part of him doesn't want to even try because he doesn't want to have it confirmed that he will never recognize his own creations.

The Enforcer nods again, just as sharply. “Any, Prime.” And he even parts his chest seams and bares his spark chamber for Optimus to see.

Jazz gives a choked-off reboot of his vocoder, but doesn't say anything. Optimus is too fascinated to pay attention to him anyway.

Iudex Five's spark chamber looks different from what Optimus is used to. Denser, somehow. It is still made from the same crystal that makes up Optimus' and every other Transformer's spark chamber, but it is... more. Where normal chambers are clear and glitter with the base coding doted into their molecular matrix, Iudex Five's is nearly opaque. Optimus would need a magnifying level his optics aren't capable of, but Optimus thinks that if he examined the chamber closer, he would find that the entire spark chamber has been suffused with nanocircuitry. Additionally, he can see hints of non-standard chamber outlets that have simply been cut back down to the crystal because there are no frame points for them to connect to.

Even if there is another spark inside, this is the chamber his creation made. 

It is beautiful. 

The hundreds and thousands of layers of nanocircuitry stacked on top of each other are powered by the electromagnetic and photonic emissions of the spark inside them, absorbing nearly all light. Only where the frame connectors grow out of the chamber, does some of the original spark intensity shine through. Like stars and nebulae in a darkening night sky.

Almost on automatic, Optimus feels his own chest-plates unlock. His Creator-partition loads itself into his primary processors without his command because it has been triggered by all the talks of creator and creation. And because he feels some of the same wonder-desire-duty mix that normally precedes creation.

Optimus lets it. If there is a part of him that can recognize whether a spark is of his spark, it will be his Creator-partition.

He feels how his tightly controlled fields even out and relax, filling with the love and awe unfolding in his processors. He wraps them around the entire room, not caring how Jazz's and Ratchet's engines stall briefly before their heat-fans turn on and they retreat-stumble to the wall. His only focus is Iudex Five now, and the way his bland fields shiver slightly where they are overlaid with Optimus'.

Has the emotionless mech recognized something in Optimus' fields?

Slowly, Optimus gets up and steps around his desk, coming to a halt before the Enforcer. The mech remains silent as he looks up, but his doorwings are flared wide and tremble. More love and compassion pours out of Optimus, taking in just how bad of a shape Iudex's frame is in. Up close, the smell of rust is nearly cloying, and Optimus' spark aches that a mech – any mech – could have been treated so badly.

Optimus reaches out and tenderly brushes the back of a digit against Iudex' cheek spar. “Will you allow me to merge with you?”

Towards the back of the room, there is another choke-gasp before there is the unmistakable sound of Ratchet plugging a cable into Jazz. All sounds from the saboteur cease abruptly, even if his heat fans increase their rounds per klick.

Iudex Five ignores them just like Optimus does. The Enforcer's answer consists of spiraling his chamber open, bathing the room in the bright blue light of his spark. Optimus feels it on his plating, against his fields, and he is nearly overwhelmed from the trust, the sheer beauty of it.

He doesn't even realize he has responded in kind until he feels the flicker of awe from the mech in front of him. Slowly he gathers Iudex Five close, one servo on his back between the doorwings, the other cupping the externally beautiful but internally corroding Enforcer helmet. The mech steps willingly into his embrace, but that is the entirety of his response.

It doesn't matter.

Optimus has never done a sparkmerge while both partners are standing. The height difference is just too great to make it work easily. But his creator-partition doesn't care. Core coding has Optimus bend forward slightly and help Iudex arch backward, and all of a sudden there is contact.

A keen wants to force itself through Optimus' vocalizer at the sudden pain-pleasure against his most intimate components. It is spark-rending how Iudex Five shivers briefly from the same sensations, but doesn't draw away. Instead his spark offers itself to Optimus, a quiet surrender of everything he is for Optimus' perusal and judgment.

He can't help himself but deepen the merge.

Cooling fans disgorge huge amount of heat into Optimus' small office, and it isn't clear which one of them produces the most. Optimus doesn't care. His creator-partition cares even less. Contrary to the way everyone has insisted upon leaving him alone for sparking a new mech into life, his creator-partition flares with love for Ratchet and Jazz. They are steady rocks at the edge of his perception, even charged and hardlined as they are. Their presence allows him to turn all his attention to Iudex Five, knowing they will keep him safe for as long as it takes.

And Iudex Five...

With every micron the spinning plasma of the centers of their sparks come closer, the excess energy gets dumped into their frames. It is hot and static-laden, and although Optimus' creator-partition misses the additional connections of energon shunt and hardline connection and nanite dispensary equipment, it exhilarates with the love of an unconditional merge.

The raised edge of Iudex Five's spark chamber opening scrapes lightly against the inside of Optimus' larger one. They both shudder and moan at the sensation, sparks already mixed so far that it isn't clear which one of them the action has originated from. And Optimus pushes closer still until they are one for an infinitesimally short moment that nonetheless seems to last an eon. 

Overload explodes through them so hard that the gaps of their joints are sparking as charge jumps from plate to plate. The Faraday cage of their touching chambers crackles with the electricity running along its outside, even as their sparks within are already striving again to resume their original form. Matter that has merged completely for a microklick, slowly drags itself apart, through each other in a torturous ecstasy.

They are lost for an eternity.

When Optimus can think again as a single being, he realizes that he has sunk to his knees with Iudex Five still clutched to his chest. Their chambers are closing, each inhabited by a single spark once again. Their chest plates follow.

It feels empty, and yet not.

Slowly Optimus releases the dazed bot, helps him upright again and find his balance. Only then does Optimus get up himself, plates still sparking occasionally. A glance towards the other two mechs in the room shows that Ratchet and Jazz are in no better shape, slumped against the wall, their fields also rolling pleasantly from a recent overload.

He smiles at them, smiles even more when Ratchet glowers at him although the medic's fields fairly burst with satiation. Creator-partition receding, Optimus returns to his seat behind his desk. He doesn't draw in his fields yet, filling the room with an easy acceptance that lets everyone recover at their own pace.

It is good that Optimus' office is as shielded as it is.

Iudex Five is the first, standing at attention as soon as his plates have stopped sparking. The small vibrations in the Enforcer's fields during the merge have smoothed out again into their original blankness. 

Optimus smiles at him and laces his fields with even more warmth. “I am satisfied,” he decrees.

While Iudex Five remains unmoved, Ratchet's and Jazz's frames relax in a hydraulic sigh of relief.

Optimus doesn't mention _what_ he is satisfied with though. Because there was no recognition, even from his creator-partition – enthusiastic as it might have been. He has come out of the merge with the knowledge that he will never recognize any of his creations.

But for once, it doesn't really matter anymore. The love of his creator-partition is so all-encompassing that the distinction between _mine_ and _not mine_ simply vanishes from the priority tree. He is Prime. In a certain manner, all sparks are his. So how can he single out only those that might have been created by him?

He will trust Ratchet's medical opinion of the spark's origin. The merge has shown him all he needs to know, even if it wasn't what he wanted. He knows now that he can trust not only Ratchet, but also Iudex Five enough to give him the responsibility of being a Prime creation. 

So when Optimus asks, “Would you like your old frame back?”, he isn't really surprised by the answer.

“That has never been my intention.”


	4. Chapter 4

Optimus nods gravely. “How long have you known that you were sparked into Prowl's frame?”

“As soon as my spark-chamber onlined in this frame.”

Ratchet rounds on Iudex and his fields flare wildly. “You didn't do what I think you did, did you?”

“I do not know,” the Enforcer replies, left untouched by the shock and anger of the medic. “What are you referring to?”

Iudex Five's unemotional response is completely serious, none of the sass or sarcasm present that other bots would have injected into the statement. That is the only reason Ratchet doesn't explode.

“You modified your spark-chamber processor to store data,” the medic growls accusingly.

And Iudex Five nods.

Optimus can see how Ratchet only barely keeps himself from throwing one of his infamous wrenches. 

“What did you overwrite?”

“Parts of my emotional programming. I do not have sufficient recollection of why this section, nor do I know whether I expected a transplantation to another frame, or whether I was merely trying to prevent a memory-wipe.”

The sound Ratchet makes is an electronic squeal of fury, the likes of which Optimus has never heard from the medic. Even Jazz looks at Ratchet strangely and slowly edges away. Only Iudex Five remains unmoved in the center of the caustic onslaught of enraged fields.

“Are you completely processor-addled?” the medic spits. “You crippled your emotional processing for _data_? A spark-chamber processor isn't one of your standard storage banks where you can write and delete files at will – it's a _processor_ , you underclocked heap of iron atoms! How much of your spark-chamber circuitry did you damage by reshaping it into storage circuitry?” he demands to know. Suddenly, a freezing tinge runs through Ratchet's fields. “Or were you so insane that you burned the files directly into your crystal matrix?”

Iudex Five doesn't even flinch. “The data is located beneath Emotional Connection points EC3 through 762, EC 1449 through 2070, and PC 65535 through 65624.”

Which isn't an answer to Ratchet's question, but Optimus supposes he knows which option Iudex Five has gone with. Well, at least he has had the sense to not remove his emotional processing entirely. A mech has about 3000 ECs, a bit more for femmes. Iudex overwrote less than half of them. It shouldn't have damaged him to this degree. Then why...

Oh.

Optimus takes over for Ratchet, because the medic isn't capable of creating a coherent response that goes beyond a surge of white noise. “And of the remaining connection points, the majority were simply never reconnected to your frame after the chamber transplant in lack of matching frame connection points.”

“Correct.”

Had the spark-chamber been allowed to remain in its original frame, Prowl probably would have been able to compensate. As it is... “Ratchet. Is it possible to repair this malfunction?”

Static laces every glyph the medic spits. “It's fraggin' well no _malfunction_ , Optimus, it's deliberate! You think I can just – what, wave a glowing magic wand and turn the new nano-circuitry back into emotional processing? Slaggit, I'm not Primus! Chamber processor modifications of an active mech can only be done by the mech himself. Why do you think the explanation of giving him another chamber because his modifications have gone awry, was so plausible? The most I can do is fiddle a bit with the ECs so that whatever remaining emotional capabilities he has are at least connected to his frame! Frag, and while I'm at it, I might just as well give him an entirely new frame 'cause that would be easier than repairing this walking heap of rust!”

“Ratchet!” Optimus reprimands him. Although the medic's summary of the Enforcer's physical state might be accurate, it is quite insulting and not something Iudex Five can be blamed for.

He turns to the Praxian. “Please do not mind Ratchet's words; you will have any medical care available should you wish it. Since you aren't interested in getting your old frame back, what are your plans for now?”

Ratchet growls, but thankfully stays silent.

“Seek justice,” is Iudex Five's monotonous answer.

Optimus frowns a bit. He knows of several other 'justice seekers' in the Autobot ranks, whose idea of justice revolves around physical violence, if not deactivation entirely, for any slight against them. “What are you seeking justice for?”

This is the first time that Iudex Five shows something resembling emotions outside their brief spark-merge: his doorwings twitch briefly. “Order in Praxus needs to be restored. Besides my own observations of violations of Prime directives there, the file in my spark chamber contains the knowledge that my old frame has stored away more evidence in a hidden memory. I do not know of its content, but it will have to be taken into account for justice to be served.”

Optimus can't keep his optics from flickering in surprise. “Is that why you contacted Prowl then?”

“Correct. Additionally, calculations projected a 87.33 percent chance that Prime-creation Prowl is capable of bringing matters to the attention of suitable authorities. While I have no knowledge of what information the hidden file contains, it is coded into my spark chamber that it needs to get out. I simply took the path that had the highest probability of success by enticing his curiosity.”

Jazz suddenly looks a lot more alert all of a sudden. “Any other things coded away inside you that we should know about?” the saboteur asks, deceptively nonchalantly. 

“I have some source code intended for what appears to be a specific processor arrangement, a distributed cloud cluster with at least 8k cores. It seems to be part of a real-time tactical software, but without the surrounding framework I cannot tell what its detailed function is.”

A distributed cloud cluster with 8k cores – Optimus knows precious few mechs with such a high-performance processor setup. And Prowl, the most likely candidate, happens to be one of them. 

Why would Prowl have hidden _software_ away like this? Optimus knows he feared a memory-wipe, but what use would an isolated program – no, part of a program – have when the rest is gone? “Would you be willing to let Ratchet study it for potential malfunctions, and then give Prowl a copy?”

Iudex Five nods sharply. “I am too limited to make use of it. In return, I ask to be involved in the process of bringing Praxus to justice.”

Pinging Ratchet and Jazz with the electronic equivalent of a question mark, Optimus is certain that they will understand the real question behind: Can Iudex Five be trusted with such a delicate operation? Yes, he has merged with the Enforcer's spark. But he would rather have a second opinion before making such a far-reaching decision of involving a virtual stranger in one of the Autobots' top-most secret operations.

 _/As far's I've seen, the mech's completely straight. Always does his best to get to the bottom of things b'fore bringin' in the guilty,/_ Jazz pings back with a mixture of grudging admiration and Spec-ops distrusting on sheer principle. _/Well, 's long as he doesn't get direct orders from the top tah go explicitly against it. Shouldn't be a problem though now that he's here and that they can't deactivate him anymore with a remote button./_

 _/He's a Iudex,/_ is all Ratchet says. And maybe that says everything, too, because the Praxian Enforcer batches have been named after their core programmatic traits. Verum, the ones who seek truth. Arbiter, the ones who keep the balance of peace. And Iudex, the ones who enforce justice.

It just seems too good to be true that Praxus hasn't messed with their Enforcers' programming and perverted it like they have done with so many other things.

Finally, Optimus nods. “You will be made part of it, but only after you have sought out med-bay to get your frame repaired.”

 _/As if I didn't have enough work already,/_ Ratchet grouches but doesn't let it influence his fields. 

Optimus ignores him and continues talking to Iudex Five. “For now, you will be restricted to med-bay and the common quarters, and I ask that you not seek out Prowl. As soon as you feel ready, you will be sent some of the information we have already gathered, and it will be your test to propose the best course of action. Depending on the results, your further involvement will be determined. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, Prime.”

“Good. Welcome to the Autobots.”

Iudex Five salutes with his closed fist to his spark. “Thank you, Prime.”

* * *

Iudex Five proves to be a very capable investigator, even laid-out in med-bay as he is. He has chosen the less cost-intensive but slower treatment of having his rust removed with a combination of acid baths and highly dosed metal supplements, instead of replacing the infected parts. But for his processors to work at full capacity, his frame doesn't have to be be whole. Ratchet has already seen to it that his circuitry at least is in top condition.

From the meager data they give him in the beginning, he has already extrapolated several names of mechs who are also likely to be involved. Most of them they already have on file; the others prove to be a good hint. The cross-referencing and the amount of detail he presents in his findings, are enough to make any lawyer freeze – and they all are supported by meticulous calculations and probabilities.

After the tenth report of more than fifty megabit, Optimus is convinced. He has kept things to the tight circle of Ratchet, Jazz, and himself, but now it is time to bring in a mech who has the time and inclination to do the kind of air-tight planning necessary for a successful trial.

Optimus himself delivers Iudex Five a memory stick with the collected Cybertronian laws compressed onto it. “If you still want to help, you will need this.”

The Enforcer stills as he accesses the content. It takes him longer to respond than necessary if he had done a simple check. “You are planning to take them to court. To make sure none escapes, it will have to be a mass trial against everyone involved at the same moment. And the accusations need to be serious enough to make sure they all are taken into preventive custody,” Iudex finally concludes.

Optimus nods, pleased that the mech has caught on so quickly. He is also very pleased that the smell of rust is almost completely gone already, and that the Enforcer's movements are much smoother than they were in Optimus' office. “I am keeping things quiet for now, but I need someone who can prepare the trial. The strategy, the mechs involved, the prosecution. Our tactics to make sure everyone gets their just comings.”

Iudex' doorwings flicker a bit. “I will need more information then.”

“You will be given access to everything we have. You will have to coordinate with Jazz if you need more. If he agrees, do you think you can work with Prowl? He is the tactician I originally planned on involving.” 

Optimus watches carefully for any hint of reaction to his suggestion, but the Enforcer's fields remain as blank and uninvolved as they have been. Is it just his spark-chamber damage, or does he simply not care whether it is Prowl or not?

“He will be a great asset,” the Enforcer states. “He has already had time to process what I assume will be the core of accusations around which the trial will be built. Depending on how things progressed, I would have suggested involving other mechs sooner or later. While my processors are exceedingly suited for tactical calculations, they are not capable of handling the amount of variables involved in this case in a timely fashion. Additionally, my lack of emotional processing will make it very hard to properly estimate the reactions of the mechs involved in a non-combat situation like a trial.”

Optimus knows it is kind of underhand to force the two mechs together like this, but he needs to know that they can work with each other. The Autobots have too few tacticians to let either of their talents go to waste. 

And, while Optimus regrets that he has to think of the possibility, a second mech will be able to make sure that Iudex' work can be trusted.

But Optimus doesn't allow those dark processor threads show. He just smiles and lets his fields tell of his approval. “Excellent. I will tell him of your agreement and he can then decide whether he is ready to face you. Should he not want to be involved after all, I will see to it that I find another mech with suitable tactical leanings.”


	5. Chapter 5

Optimus needn't have worried. Prowl is more than interested in meeting Iudex, the mech he probably would have been had the spark switch not happened. 

However, as much as Optimus would like, he doesn't have the time to watch over their reunion personally. Since Iudex Five is not in a state fit to be dismissed from med-bay yet, Ratchet is the one who informs Optimus about how things go.

Apparently, Prowl was 'skittish as a beaten turbo-fox' first, but once he understood Iudex Five's emotional deficit he was 'right as rain' again. The two Praxians hardlined with each other not even two breem after that, and it was all Ratchet could do to prevent them from linking more than the outermost thought-shells.

He decides not to be surprised when ,the next orn, Optimus receives a formal request from both Prowl and Iudex Five that Ratchet do whatever tests he deems necessary so that they can be allowed to merge their tactical processors.

It is an unusual arrangement only in so far as they both want to be equal in the merge. On Cybertron of old, processor link-ups were quite common amongst scientists and other mechs with processor-heavy fields of work. Normally though, there is a coordinator mech who has the main program, and who has the plan of how the necessary calculations can be distributed to all the others. The coordinating mech will then gather all the individual results and merge them into a whole. It is quite common for students at universities to provide their processing space for such projects, in return for some extra energon rations. 

Optimus isn't sure why Prowl and Iudex chose a different balance, and what kind of advantage they hope to gain from the unusual arrangement. However, he has never been part of such multi-mech parallel processing efforts and doesn't know enough about the net topology involved to form a solid opinion. He trusts that they know what they are doing, and so gives Ratchet the corresponding orders. 

Since he doesn't hear anything back except for Ratchet's grumbling about like it wasn't as if he hadn't had enough work already without that, Optimus considers the matter settled.

And it is settled indeed. That is, until he wants to have a report from them three orns later and instead receives only an automatic busy-response whenever he tries. Only a high-priority message just short of a full base-wide alarm makes it through to them. Even then all he gets is a brief moment of complete attention that, upon telling them that he just wants to have a report, quickly devolves into the slow and halting glyphs of a mech too busy with other things on his processors.

Optimus decides to leave them be, especially since they seem to have made considerable headway on the trial plannings already.

In the end, Prowl and Iudex Five spend nearly two decaorns hardlined together, taking breaks only for basic maintenance and energon consumption. When they come out of it, they have consolidated their knowledge into an air-tight plan for the trial against Praxus, from the information gathering still to be done, to the first public announcement, to witness and evidence presentation, to responses to any of Praxus' predicted arguments. It contains details and contingency plans to a level that Optimus can only stare in wonder. They present it to him without comment. 

Only as an afterthought does Prowl mention that they have decided to switch sparks and chambers again.

“Why?” Optimus asks with curiosity, and not a small twinge in his spark. What has happened to cause this change in processor set?

Prowl shrugs his doorwings, no signs of distress either in his frame language or his EMs. “I already said that if I knew someone who could use this frame better than I can, I would feel obligated to tell you.”

Optimus nods. He can remember Prowl's words only all too well. But why now? He turns his attention to Iudex Five. “And what is your opinion on the matter?”

“My approach to tactical processing is indeed 68.339 percent more efficient than Prowl's. With regard to how the war is progressing, that is projected to make a significant impact. However, his emotional capabilities are clearly superior to mine, and will remain superior even when I can make use of my full emotive capacities.”

Is that one of the reasons they did a processor-linkup? So that Iudex Five could experiment with Prowl's tactical set-up and they could see who is the more suited one for it? But then again, have they thought about the consequences? Optimus states his question more precisely. “My apologies. I meant to ask whether you are willing to change frames and, for all intent and purpose, become Prowl, when you have refused before.”

“I am.” No hesitation, no doubts coloring his fields, no regret.

Optimus nods gravely. However, Iudex Five will be the one less affected – he can only profit from having the proper frame to fit his spark-chamber again. It is Prowl for whom the decision will have the greater impact.

“And you, Prowl? We do not have the resources necessary to give you a completely new frame. You would have to take up Iudex Five's.”

Prowl cants his doorwings in a mixed signal. “I have thought about it, and I think there are some more options. I like the Enforcer frame, and I don't mind having to continue with the derusting therapy. Iudex Five's memories, however, I will only take in their most condensed form. Just enough to ensure I will not be a new-spark and have something of a base personality. I will take a new designation though.

“Ratchet already mentioned that he could give me – Iudex Five – some more processors to ensure I can remain a tactician. Also, we thought I – Prowl – would share as much of the specialized software I run with Iudex as possible. I may never reach the same potential this frame has, but I can still become very good.”

Contrary to the terror Prowl has shown in Optimus' office less than three decaorns ago, this Prowl seems completely comfortable with switching frames. His fields speak of steady conviction and of trust that things will work out.

There is little Optimus can say when faced with such confidence. Both Prowl and Iudex seem to have thought things out to the last detail – only more of an indication of their calling to the role of tactician – and have made their choice.

“Very well,” he finally rumbles when neither of them starts to fidget beneath a hard stare. “You will have to arrange the details with Ratchet. However, I would like you to not schedule the transfer during the trial. Your plans are exceedingly detailed, but I would like to have you on hand should anything go wrong.”

Prowl nods quickly. “Of course, Prime, that was never our intention.”

“Then proceed with Primus' blessing.”

* * *

Ratchet's request for an open com-line pings harshly against Optimus' electromagnetics.

_/Yes, Ratchet, what do you need?/_ Optimus sends back, already trying to think of what might have happened. This is the orn the chamber switch between Prowl and Iudex has been scheduled, and Ratchet should already be in surgery if things have gone well. 

The trial is still twenty decaorns off, enough time for the two mechs to integrate into their new function before they will be needed.

_/I? I need nothing,/_ the medic snorts. _/Iudex Five has something that he can't tell anyone but you, he says. Mech won't let me put him under before that. If you want to hear it, you need to come down to med-bay. He's already in the clean room./_

There is no question whether Optimus will come or not. _/I'll be there./_

While the spark of Iudex Five will finally be returned to its original frame, most of the memories and the personality of Iudex Five will be lost since Prowl doesn't want to take them up. In a sense, Iudex Five will be deactivated although not a single spark will return to the Matrix. 

After all the mech has done for their cause, the least Optimus can do is be there when his existence ends.

Slowly drawing on his creator partition, he makes his way to med-bay. First Aid is already there in the wash-racks, scrubbing himself down. Ratchet wordlessly hands Optimus a powerful hose, and Optimus knows enough to take it and spray himself down with special attention to armor gaps and potential dirt beneath his armor. Iudex Five is in the clean room, with no dirt or dust that might become dangerous once nano-sized circuitry is exposed.

Optimus doesn't need to wash himself as thoroughly as the other two since he will be long gone before the surgery starts up. It means he is done first and is about to enter the room.

“You've got two breem,” Ratchet tells him. “He's on a slow-acting anesthetic I managed to install before he said he wanted to see you.”

Optimus only nods and draws heavier upon his creator partition, then enters.

Both Iudex Five and Prowl are laid out on med-berths, about a framelength apart. They are hooked to a plethora of wires and monitoring equipment, showing spark intensity, radius, luminosity, energon density, core temperature, and a multitude of other numbers Optimus doesn't know enough about to interpret. 

Prowl's fields are relaxed in his unconsciousness. Iudex Five's are as blank as ever; however, his dimly glowing optics show that he isn't in recharge yet. 

Optimus lets his fields flood the room with a calm serenity he draws from his creator-partition and waits next to the entrance. He doesn't want to startle the mech. It takes a while for Iudex Five to turn his head, the anesthetic program Ratchet has told Optimus about obviously well at work already.

“You came,” is the Enforcer's emotionless observation.

“I did.” Optimus steps closer so that Iudex Five has him easily in his field of vision. “You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes.”

But he doesn't continue on. The silence between them stretches, the klicks passing. Optimus waits patiently for Iudex to either gather his stray thoughts or to drop off into unconsciousness.

“Make sure that Prowl has at least 37 percent emotional functionality,” the Enforcer suddenly says. His voice is already turning flatter with the shut-down of all superfluous software. And the program to create the rich harmonics in a mech's voice, is indeed quite nonessential.

“I will.”

“And do not let my faults and transgressions fall upon Prowl or whoever this frame will become. Both of them will have parts of me, but I will be gone. They won't know.”

Optimus frowns, but he makes sure his fields only show his concern for the other mech. “Won't know what?” he prods gently. “What it is to be like without access to your emotional programming?”

Iudex Five remains silent and lets the rest of Ratchet's anesthesia program work through him. Just before he is about to slip into stasis, he mutters, “Justice will be served.”

Then his dim optics turn blank as the last of his processors go offline, just like Prowl already is.

In mute disquiet, Optimus watches Ratchet and First Aid come in again, alerted by the monitoring equipment. They are still steaming from the thorough, cleanser-rich shower they have taken to remove any and all foreign particles on their frames. While First Aid is scrubbing his servos in an even more thorough cleansing solution, Ratchet first checks on both Iudex Five, then on Prowl, and then shoos Optimus out.

“Get. They'll be fine.”

Optimus gets. 

The transplant itself doesn't take more than three joor, with both Ratchet and First Aid working on a chamber each to make sure that first all support struts and fluid lines, and then all connection points are disconnected and then joined in the right order. Ratchet takes Prowl's frame because he is more familiar with the unusual modifications the bot has made. But even so the ether is filled with scathing epithets as he has to microweld a full 25 percent more connectors than in a standard frame.

Everything goes well. The frames accept the chambers, and the sparks never dimmed as much as a single lux. Installing the processor modifications in the frame that was Iudex Five takes another three joor, but at long last all tests run clear and the OS recognizes and can deal with the new hardware.

The medics finish and close the two mechs up, leaving them hooked up to heavy monitors. Ratchet thinks that if anything happened it would already have by now, but he prefers to err on the side of caution even though both mechs are disgustingly stable. He brings them out of stasis, only to drop them straight into recharge so smoothly that their operating systems don't have a chance to start up. It is best they sleep off the surgery and wake naturally; that gives both soft- and hardware time to fully synchronize with each other and the new sparks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated 3 chapters at once - to see the new part, start with Ch. 4

Optimus is there when Prowl wakes first, greeting his creation now whole again. He can already see that this Prowl is more stoic, less emotional than the other. But at least he does show emotions in his fields. Only time will show how much he has been changed.

Optimus also manages to be there when Iudex Five – the frame that formerly was Iudex Five – finally comes out of recharge. The Enforcer's last words, those that speak of justice being served, haven't let Optimus go. He hopes that he might get some answers still, what exactly Iudex Five had meant with his cryptic comment. The new mech hasn't cast aside all of Iudex Five's memories, after all.

Quietly he waits as the Enforcer frame boots up one processor core at a time. Despite being half in recharge, the frame's fields feel a lot more lively now than they ever had with Iudex Five. So the emotive processing has been restored. He feels like an entirely different mech already.

As soon as former Iudex Five catches sight of Optimus, he struggles to sits up. “Prime,” he nods as Optimus helps him.

Optimus accepts the greeting before asking how the mech feels, whether Optimus should call Ratchet, and other general questions. The new mech is like a completely different person, and Optimus wonders whether he has retained any memories at all. 

“How much do you remember?” he finally comes to the true reason for his visit.

The Enforcer frame that had seemed so aloof with Iudex, tilts its head and cants its doorwings in curiosity. The dimming light of its optics shows that he is accessing memories. “I am... was an Enforcer? One of the Iudex batch.” Suddenly he grimaces. “And boy are things fragged up over in Praxus. Good thing that you're finally doing something about it, Prime. Heh, I want to feel their fields when you present them with their collect bill in the trial!”

At this moment, Optimus decides that Iudex Five is really and truly gone. And that the new mech has no recall of what the Enforcer's last words might have meant.

Putting the question as unanswerable to the back of his processing, Optimus does his best to smile at the new mech. “You will. What is your designation?”

“Smokescreen.” The mech grins at Optimus and extends a servo to shake.

Optimus takes it. “Then welcome to the Autobots, Smokescreen.”

* * *

Smokescreen turns out to be every bit as talented as old Prowl was, maybe even moreso in the department of cunning and insight into mechs. And Prowl... the mech is stoic to his core, but at least he seems alive now with the remainder of his emotional capabilities available once again. 

The two of them are still working on the plans for the trial, even though Prowl has already taken up the post of lead Autobot tactician. He is just that good – his record of not a single loss during the last three Decepticon attacks speaks for itself.

But even gifted as he is, Prowl is as surprised by the next one as they all are. The news that Praxus is under attack, comes the orn before they are about to announce the trial.

By the time the news arrives though, it is already too late. In an unheard-of strategy, all Seekers patrol the outside of the city and pick off every escaping mech, while all of Megatron's grounders waltze through the streets and raze everything to the tenth sublevel.

It is swift. It is brutal. It is efficient and focused in a way Optimus isn't used to from Megatron's attacks.

By the time the Autobots arrive, Praxus is a smoldering heap of ruins, the crystal gardens a sharp wasteland of shards. Optimus can do nothing but let his snipers shoot a couple bolts after the last of the retreating Decepticons, while everyone else organizes into a frantic rescue effort.

Taking a break from shifting endless tons of rubble, Optimus finds a message on a private com-frequency he has thought he would never use again. It is from Megatron, his Lord High-Protector. His enemy, too, for the past several vorns. Optimus wonders why now, of all times, Megatron decides to talk to him. Hasn't he done enough already? 

Optimus doesn't respond, but he can't help but open the message. It is unusual enough for his enemy to contact him privately like this, doubly so when it is only a brief message of a few dozen glyphs instead of long, gloating monologues.

 _/You thought you could have taken them to court, that you could have stopped them with nothing but_ words _? You can count yourself lucky that your pet Enforcer wasn't as naïve. Be glad, Prime, that I did your work for you. They would have made you the laughing-stock of the entire galaxy./_

Optimus just stands there stiff and uncomprehending, looking over the ruins of Praxus where not a single spark-sign shows up.

 _But what about all the Enforcers, what about all those mechs who were only the victims in this conspiracy? What about those who you should rightfully be fighting_ for _instead of killing, if you take your cause of freeing all suppressed mechs seriously?_ he wants to scream. But he knows that Megatron will hear him no more than he has ever heard Optimus before.

And secretly, he is also a little bit glad that he won't have to go through the strain of a vorn-long trial anymore.

So he remains quiet and trembles with every report that tells of no survivors in yet another search quadrant. Iudex Five did – Iudex Five had – is this what his apology before the frame switch was about? Does it mean that neither Prowl nor Smokescreen know that Iudex let Megatron know of the planned trial? And, more importantly, why did Iudex Five do that?

Who is he supposed to bring to justice for the massacre of Praxus now?

Optimus continues shivering in lack of a shielded room where he can let his fields do the wailing for him.

He is Prime. And Primes serve their people.

But he feels like he has failed them from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the last three chapters being kind of... hurried. I thought I could finish this with less words - and then Iudex Five decided to run off on me and become a half-traitor. Not to mention the situation between him and Prowl - to go from not wanting to switch to deciding to switch after all kind of left me all torn up.
> 
> I hope you liked it, and many thanks to everyone who commented or left some kudos!


End file.
